Long Early Poems
Long Early Poems. Below are the most popular long Early by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Early poems by poem length and keyword.
In seventeen seventy-seven,
amidst the deep summer’s August heat,
Barry St. Leger, loyalist milita,
and the Iroquois walked on sore feet.
Their mission was clear: move down the Mohawk,
meet Burgoyne and split the rebel states,
except the Americans in Fort Stanwix
were effectively blocking their way.
To advance the fort had to be reduced,
but St. Leger’s force had few big guns,
so he settled into a siege of the fort,
with a mind to hold strong 'til he’d won.
But the patriots knew of the British plans,
and were not content to just sit and wait,
Tyrion County called up its militia
to save Stanwix from a bloody fate.
Eight hundred of them marched for the fort,
under the command of Nick Herkimer,
a palatine German of the Mohawk vale,
an able and determined fighter.
They stopped to camp not far from Stanwix,
and Herkimer counseled that they should hold,
to await a signal from inside the fort
and launch a two-front attack bold.
But the militia saw this as cowardice,
and said,”What else could we expect?
His own brother fights with St. Leger,
we can’t expect him to take the next step.”
Herkimer darkened at his men’s words,
and would not idly receive their scorn,
he ordered the men to be on the ready,
they would advance the following morn.
But the British knew of their approach,
and prepared to put them to the test,
near five hundred set out to intercept,
mostly Iroquois with some Loyalists.
The next day the Americans, on the move,
found themselves passing through a ravine,
unaware that eyes stared upon them
as they drank from a cool, tiny stream.
The British had planned to wait until
the patriots were all stretched out,
but some Indians opened fire too early,
a roar of muskets and loud piercing shouts.
The first volleys hit hard, stunned the militia,
a good many brave soldiers went down,
Herkimer took a ball in the leg,
and from a dying horse pitched to the ground.
So fierce was that first surprise attack,
so many patriotic souls shot dead,
that all sides involved said the tiny stream
was stained by the blood until red.
Some tried to move wounded Herkimer,
but he was still in no mood for retreat,
he took out a pipe, leaned on a tree trunk,
and said,”I will meet the enemy...”
CONCLUDES IN PART II
The early years of her life seemed riddled with emotional scares;
but in time, though she had no sign of any timelines, she would heal.
She came from a long line of rain forests, forests that had no rain
to enable them to produce balms, salves, and healing medicines.
To her answer to the ever resounding question of, "Is there no balm
in Gilead? Is there no physician there?*; there always came an
answer of seeming hopelessness from the mouth of a big wide-eyed owl,
"No, No, No! Never, never!" Throughout that barren forest were paths
paved with fear, doubt, worry, mistrust, and disbelief. It was such a path of unfairness destined to be navigated by a most innocent one as Angelica;
and she fertilized that unseemly and unfriendly pathway with years of pain and shame. But unlike millions who treaded that same path of hostility
and terror, Angelica refused to succumb to the repeated assaults and reached the Eastern end of the forestry where awaiting her was a beautiful
chirping bird, the likes of which was never seen in life or dream. Every soul soothing chirp drew her closer, as the language of that life saving bird
revealed these words: "This Way My Love, where your every experience will be as harmless as a dove".
020321FBPS
*Jeremiah 8:22
"Time drops all these moments as
decayed, spoiled riches.
And vibrating strings of light
dance the tip of Souls while
enjoying the orchestra
of all life!" -- E.P. Robles
--
[Too late; as late as it gets thought I.]
Upon this very late or very early
morning while i began to realize
i left my dreaming snoring then upon
a glint from parted curtains I was certain
a something queerly missing ~ or should
i say amiss.
There, upon the fabric of dusty thoughts
while peering out my window pane
i came to see a dastardly scene that
almost certainly brought me to my knees!
There upon the shrouded street
were many short blue-clothed things
busily erasing each moment as it passed.
Unbeknown that "i" was one between
the 'there' and 'here' they froze
all the while i stood and stared;
"Oh no oh no!" they screamed at me
squirming then churning they moved
and rebuilt the past you see
and found myself in bed again
and all ends well that begins
and all beginnings have always been
--endings are myth!
:: 04-20-2017 ::
I have to turn back the clock of time- the pages of my life,
to when I was just a little girl who already knew all about death;
it had left me shattered and I just decided not to speak,
I heard everything said to me but I was locked in a silent place.
My parents took me to a doctor and he said, "she is traumatized."
You see, I had watched my sister die, her blood seeping into the street;
and I became silent, soon I was sent to stay with Grandma,
and Grandpa on their farm, oh I loved my attic room and the animals.
I would sit in that attic room and make up stories in my head,
for hours and hours, then one day Grandma came and sat on my bed;
she gave me a journal and pen and said, "write your pain,
write it, dear one, write it all down!" And so I did from that day on.
I wrote what I could not say and Grandma would read it out loud,
with tears she would hug me and encourage me to write each day;
and thus a poet was born- Grandma was always my inspiration,
she was the family storyteller and I would listen to her for hours.
Mom would say," you know she has told that story a hundred times,
and it always changes, so don't believe it my dear!" But I did not care;
then one day, I spoke, "mommy can I have more toast?"
I think Grandma and Mom just about fell off their kitchen chairs in shock.
And I wrote and wrote- many a journal has been put on a shelve,
many a poem has been penned, and all because of my Grandma;
at her funeral, I wrote the eulogy and stood trembling,
then a great breeze took my papers away- yet I spoke in a strong voice.
I believe in that moment, Grandma
reached out her hand and gave me courage;
and I have felt that hand reaching out many times.
_____________________________
December 24, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/Inspiration Came Early
Copyright Protected, ID 16-860-606-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Dedicated to my wife Lilian
I’ll never forget the day I first kissed you,
Oh, how you blushed that first tender day,
How I whispered softly all I felt for you
And promised heaven would start on earth.
Look back my sweetheart and tell me true
If indeed my promises I have faithfully kept,
Don’t linger too long to answer, my cherished one,
I know I could never have disappointed you yet.
Did we not enjoy our honeymoon so full of enchantment?
Where music mesmerized us with melodious Mexican strains?
Served with food of finest, inimitable delicacies, satiated
Our appetite till we danced until the early hours of the day?
Then life’s humdrum came upon us, but we always laughed.
We went for walks and like newlyweds, we kissed and smiled.
Until as years rolled on, I got promoted and we could afford
A bigger house to fill with our dear little charming daughter.
And come what may, for I know life is short,
I will always maintain my vows and promises
I uttered with great sincerity on that lovely day
When we held hands and exchanged rings
And uttered that for us it was for better or for worse.
Still, if we had our lovely lives anew to start
You’ll always be right here in my heart.
On an early walk along the beach I was enjoying the sand and the sea when I heard a voice from beneath my feet saying…”Please, don’t step on me!”
Immediately I stopped, looked down and wondered aloud…”Who is talking to me?”
then a voice from a twig in the sand answered, “Down here…it’s me…the tree.”
“Oh, I don’t think you are a tree.” I said. “Why you’re only six inches tall…
although you look a little like a tree…I believe you’re much too small.”
“You silly misguided human.” He replied. “It’s not me but your mind that’s small.
To a tiny grain of sand I am 100 feet tall.”
“And by human standards you’re not very tall yourself.” He continued. “Like me with height you haven’t been blessed. Should I say you are not human because your not as tall as all the rest?”
“Good point.” I said as I smiled and got down on bended knee…then moved in a little closer so I could listen to the tree.
“Sometimes you humans are so egotistical.” The little tree said. “But I no longer find that surprising. It’s still dark…continue your walk…and come back when the sun is rising.”
So I did as the little tree suggested…wondering what more he could possibly teach…and returned to him as the sun was rising…as it began to light up the beach.
There was the little tree where I left him…smiling…illuminated by the sun
and I saw by the expression on his face…my lesson was not done.
The little tree said nothing…but now he didn’t seem so small…
for his shadow on the beach now stretched over 10 feet tall.
He beckoned me to kneel down again…and much to my surprise…
when he pointed up the beach…our shadows were the very same size.
“I’ve found in all my time on this beach.” The little tree said. “In all the years that past…
It’s not my size that matters but the size of the shadow that I cast.”
It’s amazing where we find our teachers isn’t it…this morning on a walk down by the sea…my teacher was in the sand right under my feet…
in the form of a little tree.
Some girls said they saw me on the eleven o'clock news
as I ran down a street wearing only socks and tennis shoes.
It was back in 1974 in the early spring.
So many of my friends were doing the same thing.
People must have been thinking I was a naked clown
when I swiftly scurried through the better side of town.
A few girls whistled as they saw my nudity.
I said to them: "Why don't you come and join me?"
Two of them showed me they had nothing to hide.
When they heard my words, they quickly complied.
They were both naked as jaybirds running by my side.
I felt brave, and kept my composure
until the police arrested me for indecent exposure.
The arresting police officer gave me a stern warning.
He said I had to appear before the judge in the morning.
The judge was lenient towards my naked foray.
She gave me a small twenty dollar fine to pay.
It was in the early fall when the colors of life were changing
Leaves painting a new carpet on the sidewalk
Eyes meeting
Exchanging glances
A pounding noise
Was that his heart?
Candleights and dinner
A starlit night
Weeks passed
He could not stay but vowed return and she called him Wind
She said the wind never stayed but took her breath
Fanned her spark into a flame
Then left again before the rain
A kin to the elements but
A stranger to the storms he left behind
Years passed
Time was now the enemy as he returned to find her gone
Fighting tears and memories
Reaching for the arms that once held him
Hearing her voice in the heavens
And she called him Wind.
O my brother, I can see your pain.
Unlike the ignorant, I hear your screams,
yet you refuse to explain, why you're
lost in forgotten fast flowing streams,
wandering like a forgoing wave,
thinking there's blessings in an early grave.
When you can't understand the darkness,
feeling as you do not belong,
remember in our own unique weirdness,
you don't have to pretend to be headstrong
because my brother, I can see your pain.
I know it hurts, because I've been hurt too
sometimes we fall, as I've fallen too,
but you need to realise -
It's not wrong to not be strong,
so remove your daily disguise.
Stop living up to expectations
from 'out of date' generations.
It's OK not to be OK.
and I'll help you find your way.
Dad was sadly mistaken -
it's fine to cry when you feel forsaken
because my brother, I can see your pain.
If you think there's too much shame,
we'll sit in silence until you feel tame.
It's hard to say what's on your mind,
when reactions are not always kind.
Then they ignite our dynamite hearts
to make us feel as we're not worthy,
so a piece of our sanity departs
and the demons show no mercy.
It's not absurd that so many
are confused in their own little world.
It's ok to cry, so release those tears,
you are not a burden, so share your fears
because my brother, I can feel your pain.
We don't have to smile all the time,
playing the joker is now a masculine crime.
We can't live as a definition of our past,
as fate won't wait - it moves too fast.
We can only determine where we are going,
when we process what we are not showing.
We are iron monuments forged in fire,
separate but born with burning desire.
Waterfalls formed from the same rain,
flowing from different mountainous terrain.
A secret lullaby from two unheard tones,
healing from wounds cast from selfish stones
So in times of rage and feeling misunderstood,
remember the beautiful bond of brotherhood
because my brother, I can see your pain.
Wind god
Boreas- god
Of Winter and North Wind
Swept down from cold northern mountains
of Thrake
He blew
Cold icy gusts
Of breath from bloated cheeks-
Hair and beard spiked with ice, wide mouth
Howling
Sometimes
Seen as horse-shaped
Purple-winged swift stallion,
He swept down on mares, early spring
To sire
Horses
For King of Troy-
Mated with Trojan mares
Fathered the swift, wind-shaped stallions
For him
Athens
Celebrated
Boreas Festivals
Praising him, the god of the cold
North Wind
April 14, 2023
Contest: Traditional Cinquain
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
(Revision of a longer poem posted 12/16/2014)